


Paranoid

by ArtlessComedic



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Immortal Fake AH Crew, They Just Don't Die
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 21:25:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16127060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtlessComedic/pseuds/ArtlessComedic
Summary: some immortal jerks want michael to join their crew, but he's not entirely sure they're real





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> uuuuhhhh this is just a thing i did because vent? im jonesy and im paranoid thnx
> 
> who knows if ill ever continue this lmao

“Just stay quiet and cooperate, and I won't blow your goddamn brains out.” Michael snarled, leading the man further into the dark alleyway. The lack of moon tonight really improved the ambiance as he twisted the man's arm and forced him to his knees. “Now. The money.” 

He watched the man raise his hands slowly. “Breast pocket. Right side.” 

“I'll get it, put your hands on the back of your head.” Michael gestured up with the gun and the man followed his instructions. He reached into the man's jacket and pulled out a handsome stack of cash, eyes widening at the sight. “Christ.” 

"It’s Geoff, actually.” The man said, a smile peeking out from under an impressively gelled moustache. “So how much do you need, because I still have to uh, make rent, and like, buy food...." He trailed off, watching Michael recount the money. 

Michael shook his head and leveled his gaze on the man- _Geoff._ "I...what?" He managed, barely keeping his voice above a squeak. Who the fuck carried this much cash on their person? At night? _In Los Santos?_

Geoff hummed, bringing one hand down to scratch his nose briefly before replacing it behind his head. Michael tracked his movements with his gun, but Geoff didn't try anything. "Is a thousand good? I know the rent in this city is insane." 

"How are you being so calm about this?!" Michael snapped. Was he being mocked? Maybe he should just kill this bastard and put an end to it. 

"Don't scare easy." Geoff shrugged. 

"For fuck's sake. Of course I decide to mug the one guy in Los Santos who has nerves of fucking titanium." Michael shook his head. 

"Who's also carrying over six grand in cash.” Geoff said helpfully, but Michael didn't take the bait. “You made a good choice." 

"Gee, thanks." He muttered, and took a step back as pocketed the money. 

"I am going to lose a bet though, and that's rough." Geoff continued, his eyes never leaving Michael. 

He didn't look away, not with Geoff watching him like that, but he had to know, now. “What was your bet?" 

Geoff smiled. "That Gavin would get mugged before me." 

"Friend of yours?" Michael narrowed his eyes. _-He’s playing with you._ He nodded slowly. He had to be. God this city was fucked up, and everyone in it. 

"Yeah. Kind of an annoying guy sometimes, but funny.” Geoff looked away for a moment and added, almost like it was an afterthought. “He won't be happy that some idiot pulled a gun on me and made me late." 

Michael cocked the gun. "I won't tell anyone if you don't." He said warningly. 

"Oh, I'm sure he already knows. He's good like that." Geoff looked him in the eye, his smile much too wide for someone on his knees at gunpoint. 

_He knows something you don't._ It was like he was having fun. Didn't look afraid, didn't look angry. Not even mildly irritated. He knew something. He knew _too much._ Even the way he watched Michael gave him the sense that Geoff was more amused than anything. Was he too paranoid again? _No._

He shot Geoff once through the head, just in case. 

**\----------**

"Hello, lovely Michael." Michael jumped, swinging around so fast he nearly threw his gun at the voice before he could see who had made it. When his eyes came to rest on some fucking twink wearing the most gaudy outfit he'd ever seen. A button down shirt almost halfway undone from the top, tucked into jeans that had no right being that tight. The gold jewelry draped across his collarbones was another story entirely, the metal glinting in the low light of his shitty apartment and almost making the man glow. He hid his eyes behind sunglasses that looked too expensive to be worn. _Sunglasses indoors? At night?_ All of this he took in in an instant, leaving his mouth to flounder for a reply. 

****

****

"How did you get in here?” Was his immediate response, followed shortly by an angry, “Who are you?" 

"Oh relax, it's only me tonight, no one else knows about your little stunt.” The man walked further into the room, leaving the window behind him cracked open. “I'm Gavin. It's a pleasure to meet you." 

Michael got the feeling there was much, much more to this guy than he was letting on. "You're...here for revenge?” He said slowly, giving his voice an upwards lilt to turn his assumption into a question. “To get back your buddy's money?" 

Gavin laughed easily, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Oh, no, I'm not that petty. Well, I am, but not tonight.” He continued before Michael could reply. “It's pretty funny that you managed to get your hands on Geoff. He's a slippery one, innt he?" 

_He doesn't know Geoff is dead._ He thought. It was only two nights ago that Michael killed him, Michael thought he would have been found by now. _He's playing with you._ He realised, not even a full second afterward. _It's a trick. He knows._ "He...he's weird, is what he is." 

"True. Why don't you put that gun down? I'm unarmed." Gavin took his hands out of his pockets and turned around, and the way he swayed his hips, and winked when he completed his turn, implied he wasn't out of tricks. 

God that's weird. Just like his friend, Gavin was weird. Him showing up like this, speaking about Geoff as if he were alive, but still somehow knowing that Michael had mugged him. And then the wink? It was all too much. "If it's all the same to you, I think I'll keep it." Michael said slowly, taking a measured step back without taking his eyes off his guest. Everything about this moment screamed _trap._

"Sure." Gavin said, shrugging like he had no idea what was going on in Michael's head. 

"What are you guys?" He blurted out, his grip tightening on the gun. 

"Pardon?" 

"You said it was only you tonight. There must be others. They know you're here, don't they. You know.” While he spoke, Michael turned off the safety. 

Gavin hesitated, sliding his sunglasses into his stupid hair. "You... _don't_ know?" 

Michael felt the blood drain from his face. _He knows._ Before he could so much as twitch, Gavin shrugged and went on.

"Huh. Well in that case, I'll let you figure it out on your own." He said lightly, like it didn't matter what Michael knew or didn't know. 

"Wait.” Michael's mouth moved before his brain could catch up. “Why did you come here in the first place?" 

"So you'd know that I know who you are.” Gavin said, looking very carefully into Michael's eyes. “It kind of hurts my case that you don't know who I am, but I'll let it slide. I like you." 

_And now he knows that you don't know what he thought you knew, and now he's going to Tell and then you're going to die._ Michael cocked the gun, barely registering the reaction on Gavin's face. Surprise, maybe. _Kill him! Do it!_

"Goodbye, lovely Michael!" Gavin said brightly, like they had stopped to say hello in a park. “Stay out of trouble!” And he was out the window in the blink of an eye. 

Michael dropped the gun, running shaking fingers through his hair. What the fuck. This was so fucked up. _Window._ He looked up. _The window!_ The window- the window was open. Open, it was open. He slammed it shut. Had he opened it? Had he imagined that? Imagined Gavin No. No way. It was real. He'd left golden glitter on the windowsill. He was real. _You didn't kill him. He knows, and you let him live._

**\----------**

_Tell the truth._ Michael looked down into his coffee. _I can’t._ He took a sip. _You have to._

“Is this seat taken?” A voice asked, and Michael tensed. 

“Uh, no. Go ahead.” He said, watching the froth slowly melt in his mug. He let go of the mug and sat back, sliding his shaking hands into his pockets to hide them. Instead of pulling the chair away, however, the stranger slid it out and sat down. 

“Thanks.” The voice belonged to a handsome man, with pretty brown eyes and a very nice jawline, partially hidden behind a short beard. 

“Uh.” Michael looked around briefly. “Can I...help you?” 

“You sure can, buddy.” The man offered a hand out. “I’m Jeremy. You’re Michael, right?” 

Michael sat up a little straighter, leaning forward as he took Jeremy’s hand and shook it. “Who are you?” He asked, folding his arms on the table and completely forgetting his coffee. _He can’t get you in public._ Jeremy slipped on a pair of mirrored aviators and Michael stared at his reflection. _Shouldn’t that bitch be dead by now?_ He blinked. “I- sorry, can you say that again?” _I’m a friend, hopefully._

“Oh, sorry.” Michael said, nodding slightly at the same time Jeremy repeated himself. “Uh, go ahead.” 

“I work with a crew called the Fakes.” He said seriously, leaning closer and dropping his voice to a low whisper. “And I’m here to interview you.” 

Michael narrowed his eyes. “Bullshit.” He said. 

Jeremy shook his head. “Nope, dead serious. I know you used to fight a lot. More than most. And I know you usually won.” 

_I don’t like that._ Michael hummed. “So what. I’m from Jersey, everyone fights in Jersey.” 

“Not everyone is Mogar Jones.” Jeremy smiled and Michael had to liken him to a snake. “I told you, I’m here to interview you. We want you with us.” 

_Liar._ “No.” 

Jeremy looked surprised. “What? Seriously?” 

“Dead serious.” Michael sneered and sat back. _Is this coffee bitter, or is it just you?_ “I’m not like that anymore.” 

“That’s not what Geoff tells me.” Jeremy said. 

There was a beat of silence. 

Michael shoved the table back, knocking Jeremy down and breaking the coffee cup. He picked up his chair and launched it out the window with one hand, wrestling into his jacket with the other. He hopped over the window ledge and made a break for it, shooting down the street and leaving the coffee shop in the dust. Shouts echoed across the street but he kept his eyes ahead as he ran, ignoring the growing chaos behind him. Tired screeched somewhere and he nearly slid into a wall with his sudden stop, only to push off of it and sprint down the alleyway. 

_Don’t get caught._ Mocking him. Great. _Shut up if you aren’t going to help me!_ He grit his teeth, jumping the fence at the end of the alley and rolling a few feet before shooting to his feet and taking a right down another street. _They’re right behind you!_ It was barely a thought, more a shocked realisation hitting him sharp, like the sudden pain in his lower leg, felling him with a dull asphalt thud. 

He rolled over and yanked the knife out of his leg, turning it over in his trembling hand. Engraved in the side was a single word: Free. _Yeah, right._ He looked up at the sound of footsteps, and his heart nearly stopped in his chest when a man in a skull mask reached him, grabbing and lifting and slamming him into the side of a dark van, like he was no more than a few pounds. The knife clattered to the ground, and Michael watched breathlessly as Gavin stepped out from behind the terrifying skeletal spectre, picking up the knife. _You should have killed him! Idiot! Bastard! Now look! He lead Death straight to you!_

“Hello, lovely Michael.” He said gently, his smile innocent like he wasn’t using Michael’s shirt to wipe off the knife. “I was hoping Jeremy could talk you into joining us, but that obviously didn’t go so well. Sorry about that.” 

“I should have shot you!” Michael roared, and Death lifted him away from the van, only to slam him into it again. He wheezed. 

“Oh, be nice, Vagabond.” Gavin patted Death on the arm, and the skeleton face leaned closer to Michael until he could smell the rubber- the blood. “He couldn’t kill me if he tried. Now come on, let’s get him home and talk to him like civilised people.” 

“No!” Michael curled his legs up and kicked Death’s chest, knocking him back and forcing him to let him go. The second Michael hit the ground he lunged out and kicked Gavin’s feet out from under him, then scrambled away from both of them, only to run straight into Jeremy, who looked breathless. There was the sound of sliding metal, something rolling, and a familiar voice broke through the chaos, silencing even Michael’s panicked thoughts. 

“Christ, you little assholes!” Michael looked over, eyes wide as he took in the features of the man in the crisp suit. “I told you to pick him up for a job, not fucking jump him!” Geoff stepped out of the very van Michael had been slammed against, brushing himself off. 

“You....b-but....” Michael trailed off, looking from him to Gavin. To Jeremy. To Death. _You should have checked in. I told you you were crazy._

“I’m immortal, buddy.” Geoff said, voice deadpan. “Unkillable.” 

“Prove it.” Michael snarled, anger his first reaction after fear. “Prove this isn’t a trick.” 

“Oh, I’m on it!” Jeremy pulled a knife out of his pocket and waved at Michael as he handed it to Death. Death flipped the knife open and slit Jeremy’s throat. Red blood splattered down his shirt and to the ground, and Jeremy laughed, even as the blood bubbled up and poured out of his mouth. After a moment, he spit it out, and then wiped his hand across his throat. Not a scratch. 

“What the fuck.” Michael said softly. “This is so fucked up, _what the fuck!”_

“We run this city, Michael.” Geoff grinned, passing Jeremy a handkerchief from his pocket. “Me and my boys. And I think you should join us.” 

And then Michael passed out. 


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> its uuuhhh more?? i guess

Michael stared silently at the floor. Drip-hiss. Creak. He blinked. Drip-hiss. Creak. 

Beyond the near silence of the room Michael had woken up in, he had no idea what was going on. He had been abducted, sure, and by some immortals - or some excellent magicians - other than that, he had nothing. He did know that there was something _Water._ dripping steadily in the corner, onto a radiator that hissed in protest, and something _A pipe._ creaking softly in the ceiling. 

Hands tied behind his back, jacket fucking stolen. _It's cold, put your jacket on._ Michael only stared at the dull concrete beneath him and blinked in time. _Can't. No jacket. No knife. Only fists, can't use those. Not yet._ There were footsteps on the stairs. _No there aren't. You're imagining things._

_Again._

Footsteps outside the door, _Wrong!_

Metal scraping against metal. The door opened, and the dead but somehow not-dead man walked in, Death trailing behind him silently. 

“Hey buddy!” Geoff said, and then fell silent, apparently waiting for Michael to either look him in the eye or reply back. He did neither. 

_Can't speak. He'll kill you._

“Come on, Michael, it's been thirteen fuckin hours man, I just wanna hire you for a job.” Geoff said, walking closer and squatting down so he could see Michael's through his hair. “Just one. Then you're free to go.” 

“That's a lie.” Michael closed his eyes. If he was going to die anyway, he wasn't going to fucking stall it anymore. “I'll never be free. Just kill me.” 

“That's not how the Fakes work.” 

Michael was silent for a long moment, before raising his head, just slightly. “How long have you been watching me?” _You don't want to know, why are you asking?_

“Since uh, about since you robbed me.” Geoff said. _Liar._ “You seemed interesting, so we did a little digging. Let's see, you were an underground fighter and part-time bodyguard. You fought for money, but more often for fun.” 

Michael opened his eyes, watching Geoff very carefully. 

“One night there's some sort of incident at the ring, and you put three other fighters completely out of commission and then run. Disappear from Jersey and run away to Los Santos with nothing but the clothes on your back. You rob the first guy you see and make a pretty penny, and start uh, start rebuilding your life.” He finished, smiling pleasantly. 

“You're lying.” Michael shook his head. “You...you knew that. You didn't just dig that up. I know you know.” 

“What do I know, Mogar?” 

“That's not my name.” Michael raised his voice slightly, lifting his head. “I'm Michael Vincent. I'm not a fighter anymore. There was an _accident,_ I'm not that person anymore.” _You're barely a person at all._

A little musical ping sounded, and Michael stared at Geoff as he slipped a cellphone from his pocket. “Thank you, Vagabond.” He said, tucking his phone away without replying. “What was the incident, Michael?” 

“Accident.” Michael growled. 

_Attack._

“It was an accident.” 

Geoff stood up straight with a sigh. “Go on, then. What was the accident?” 

Michael gave him his most insolent smile. “Go fuck yourself.” 

“Funny how you're so sarcastic, but it doesn't sting.” Geoff smiled back. “Must be the dimples.” 

“Dimples are a get-out-of-jail-free card.” Michael said easily, letting his smile fall away. 

“Tell me what happened, or I'll find out for myself.” Geoff said. “I have no problem going through your full life history, it's just that I'd rather hear your version of events.” 

“Thanks.” Michael growled. “But I'm sure you already know.” 

Geoff shrugged, choosing to stay silent, and Michael waited a few more seconds before slowly opening his mouth. 

“I was...it was a bad time. I was over-” he stopped. _Undermedicated. You weren't overmedicated, you weren't medicated enough._ “I was...under...” _That doesn't sound right. It wasn't the medicine's fault._ “I was-” _Just stop! Stop, if you don't know! Because you'll fuck up and he’ll think you're lying and he'll kill you!_ “Ugh, so what?” He muttered, dropping his head again. “Just...do it.” 

Geoff and the Vagabond exchanged a look over his head. “Sorry buddy, but that's not how the Fakes work, I told you.” 

“I don't remember.” Michael said, letting his head fall forward. “It's...fuzzy. I know that I was taking something new, and I know that I was in the wrong, and that I was out fighting even though I shouldn't have been, and I left before someone else could realise what I did. I just- everyone was. I don't know how to word it.” 

Geoff hummed. “Medication? What for?” 

“Paranoid delusions.” Geoff and Michael jumped, looking to the door just as Death stepped aside, watching with interest as a bearded man in floral pushed the door wider open. Michael would have said hello, but the look of utter, visceral fury on the man's face as he stormed in shut him up quick. “You found a paranoid runaway and decided to go ahead and reveal us to him?” He said angrily, advancing on Geoff. 

Geoff, to his credit, didn't budge, and even managed to sound calm. “I wasn't looking at his medical history, Jack. I just need more muscle on the team for this next job I'm planning.” 

“Then you hire him like a normal person!” Jack shouted, and for a second Michael thought he was going to take a swing at Geoff. “You don't fuck with some poor kid for three days and then kidnap him!” 

“I'm like, almost thirty.” Michael said, but it didn't look like anyone heard him. 

“You fucking revealed us by letting Vagabond try and murder Jeremy!” Jack went on. “That's awful, what the hell was going through your head?!” 

“How good he was going to get along with the crew.” Geoff said. This time Jack did take a swing at him, but Geoff jumped back just in time. “Christ, Jack!” He yelled. 

_They're distracted! Go!_ Michael bit down on his tongue and shook his head. _Go!_

Michael squeezed his eyes shut. _It's too late anyway._ Victory, then. _They're talking about you._

“-Fucking depression, Geoff, do I have to go on?!” Jack roared, just out of Michael's field of vision. He didn't bother turning his head. It was bad enough he had to hear his personal history being shouted about by strangers, he didn't need to see it too. “I'll strangle you with your own goddamn hands, Geoff. Untie that kid and bring him upstairs.” Jack's voice was more measured with those words, and he walked past Michael back to the door. 

Michael’s _dumb, stupid_ mouth opened before he could catch it, and he called out. “Hey!” 

Jack stopped in the doorway and looked back at him. The light from the stairwell behind him lit up his hair and made him look like he was glowing. 

“I'm older than you.” Michael said. 

Jack's eyebrows shot up. 

“Yeah, you know. I mean, I've got this baby face but, you- you can't keep calling me kid. Because I'm older than you.” 

“I'm immortal, Michael. Even I'm not entirely sure how old I am.” Jack said, completely deadpan. 

Michael hummed, nodding. “Sure man. I just thought, you know, since you don't look a day over twenty...” 

Beside Jack the masked figure snorted, and then quickly looked away, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. 

Jack let out a long-suffering sigh and shook his head as he turned to go back upstairs. To be polite, Michael pretended not to see him smile. 

**\----------**

“God, you're such a fucking idiot!” Michael yelled, grabbing Gavin and pushing him out of the way. “Let the brawler take the hits, you just stay out of trouble.” 

“Michael,” Gavin grinned, possibly exacerbating his split lip. “Trouble is my middle name, Michael!” 

Michael rolled his eyes and dropped into a fighting stance, ready to take out whatever drunk bastard Gavin had managed to piss off now. 

“Don't smile, Michael!” Jeremy called, from across the bar. “It'll ruin the effect!” 

Michael dodged a jab and grabbed the offending arm, completely flipping the man over his back and slamming him on the floor. “Shut up, Jeremy, or you're next!” He laughed, grabbing the man's shirt and swinging his fist down into his face. 

**\----------**

“How were you so calm?” Death asked quietly. “When we first picked you up.” _Ryan._ Ryan asked quietly. _That's Ryan under there. Death won't touch him._

“Say again?” Michael said, only to understand what he'd been asked a second later. “Oh. Uh. I guess I...I have sort of always expected someone to get ahold of me. Eventually. I knew I couldn't run forever.” 

“You still tried.” 

“Well yeah, I was fucking scared.” Michael whistled through his teeth, turning his gaze out the window of the car to watch the snow fall. “My new stuff works together better. I guess it was a bad mix or something before, because suddenly everything was worse like, paranoia-wise? But I had all this energy. So I booked it. And I was so sure that the guys at the ring knew something I didn't, or like, were out to get me.” 

“I can't imagine how that must've felt.” Ryan said, after a moment. 

“Well like, imagine you're not the Vagabond, and some other killer with a hundred percent success rate is coming after you.” Michael said. “You know for certain they're there, somewhere, waiting for you. But you don't know what they look like. You don't know where or who they could be, but you know they're waiting to get you. Stalking you. And that feeling just gets worse and worse, and every little thing sets you off because any little thing could mean the end. Except they're not there. No one around you has even heard of them. Or maybe they have, and they're lying to you, waiting to betray you. You just don't know.” 

Ryan was silent again, watching Michael through the holes in his mask. “You asked us to kill you.” 

“Well I mean...death is hardly the worst thing that could have happened to me.” 

Ryan didn't reply, but he didn't look away, so Michael took it as a cue to continue. 

“I actually...I was never really scared of being killed. I just felt like. Everyone was lying to me. So I had to lie to everyone else, just on impulse, and then they got suspicious or angry, and that made it worse.” Michael looked down at his hands. “I dunno.” 

“Death isn't so bad.” Ryan said slowly, like he was testing Michael's reaction. _He probably is. What's the correct response?_

“That's easy for you to say. You won't die.” Michael pictured the shootout with the police a few weeks ago. The leather Ryan wore growing darker and shiny with blood as he was filled with bullets, but never so much as crying out in pain as he shot back, until he'd cleared a path of bodies through the police and walked away, trailing blood but never staggering. 

“I still feel pain. I'm still _alive.”_

Michael nodded slowly. _He understands._ “Good.” 

Ryan's eyes crinkled at the corners, and Michael smiled back at him. 

**\----------**

“I understand if you want to leave.” Geoff said softly, doing a very good job of pretending his hands weren't shaking as he helped Jack clean Michael's wound, a gloriously fucked up knife wound arching from his shoulder blade to his forearm, from where he'd blocked a ferocious attempt on Geoff's life. 

“Shut up.” Michael huffed. 

“No, I- I'm serious.” Geoff shifted from where he was sitting to reach a damp washcloth and press it to the part of the injury where it was still bleeding. “You’ve been here for like a year, and you still don't fucking. You don't get it.” 

“What don't I get?” Michael frowned at him. “We're a team, this is how it works. Jack, tell him.” 

“Just because I usually disagree with Geoff doesn't mean I'm always going to take your side.” Jack said. 

“It also doesn't mean I'm wrong.” Geoff added. 

Jack hummed, picking up the suture needle. “Not in this case, anyway.” 

Geoff removed the washcloth. “Listen, Michael. We...we won't die. You have to stop trying to protect us.” 

“That's not a very good team mentality.” Michael said, looking away so he wouldn't see Jack start on his arm. 

“I'm serious!” Geoff raised his voice, making Michael tense. “If you're going to keep fucking- keep disregarding your own safety, I'll fucking fire you!” 

“Geoff,” Michael began, only for his argument to die in his throat. “Jack.” He tried. 

Jack shook his head. “A wound like this...it's nothing to us. But you could have died. You would have died for nothing, Michael. Your loyalty is respectable, commendable, even, but...don’t die for us. It's not worth it.” 

Michael was silent. “You’re worth it.” He said, after a beat of silence. “You're more than worth it.” 

“This is what I mean.” Geoff sighed, moving to kneel down in front of Michael, where he was seated on the toilet while Jack stitched him up. “You have this fierce, unwavering loyalty, and that's great! But not if it means putting your life on the line for a bunch of immortal assholes, who don't understand what it means to die anymore.” 

“You do understand, or you wouldn't be so adamant about this.” Michael clenched and unclenched his jaw, mulling over what he wanted to say. “Geoff...if one of you is in danger I’m not going to just...do _nothing._ I won't. I can't.” 

Geoff didn't reply, and Michael watched in stubborn silence as he patted him on the knee and left the bathroom. 

“Jack...you can get where I'm coming from, right?” He asked softly, wincing as the other man tied off his stitches. 

Jack sat down on the edge of the tub. “It's more complicated than Geoff makes it sound. He's...he cares about you. A lot. We all do, Michael, and it's hard to see you get hurt. You can still die from something that would barely affect one of us, and it's hard to handle.” 

“But it still hurts you guys.” Michael tried not to notice how tired Jack looked, how pale and rundown he seemed compared to his usual jovial self. “I can take it.” 

“It’s not a question of your skill. We just don't want you to, Michael.” Jack said patiently. 

_He's just being nice. He's grateful, he just doesn't know how to show it._ Michael rose to his feet. “Then I'll just have to even the playing field.” He said. “I can keep up with you guys, and I'll prove it.” 

Jack got a very bad feeling in his gut. “How do you expect to do that?” 

“I'm going to become an immortal.” 


End file.
